


payment in secrets

by PaintedVanilla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Negotiations, Secrets, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 02:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18983593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedVanilla/pseuds/PaintedVanilla
Summary: adam needs some occult beings he can trust. he'll take his payment in secrets.





	payment in secrets

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freedomfightsback](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedomfightsback/gifts).



“You can't refuse to be who you are,” the Metatron says cordially. “Listen. Your birth and destiny are part of the Great Plan. Things have to happen like this. All the choices have been made.”

“Rebellion izz a fine thing,” Beelzebub says thoughtfully, “but some thingz are beyond rebellion. You muzzt understand!”

“I'm not rebelling against anything,” says Adam in a reasonable tone of voice. “I'm pointing out things. Seems to me you can't blame people for pointing out things. Seems to me it'd be a lot better not to start fighting and just see what people do. If you stop messing them about, they might start thinking properly and they might stop messing the world around. I'm not saying they _would_ ,” he added conscientiously, “but they _might_.”

“This makes no sense,” says the Metatron. “You can't run counter to the Great Plan. You must think. It's in your genes. _Think_.”

Adam hesitates.

The dark undercurrent was always ready to flow back, its reedy whisper saying yes, that was it, that was what it was all about, he has to follow the Plan because he was part of it

It had been a long day. Adam was tired. Saving the world took it out of an eleven-year-old body.

Crowley sticks his head in his hands. “For a moment there, just for a moment, I thought we had a chance,” he says miserably. “He had them worried. Oh, well, it was nice while—”

He was aware that Aziraphale had stood up.

The angel opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Adam tilts his head in a very sharp manner.

“No,” he says sternly, looking very skeptically at the two beings in front of him. “Why should I listen to you? I did away with the others, they were fine with my choice. I don’t want a war.”

“There muzzt be a war,” Beelzebub insists desperately. “It izz written!”

“I don't see why it matters what is written,” Adam says. “ Not when it's about people. It can always be crossed out.”

Beelzebub and the Metatron have a look about them as though they’re really starting to feel the exasperation of having a tedious conversation with an eleven-year old boy.

“Excuse me—” Aziraphale tries to say.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you anymore,” Adam says curtly to the Metatron. “Or you, either,” he adds in Beelzebub’s direction.

Beelzebub looks rather alarmed. “Excuzze me?!”

“I don’t think either of you really want to listen to me,” Adam says. “If it’s my job to bring about some great war, I should want that. I don’t. Something in my head does, but it sure isn’t me. And you’re not listening to me! You’re just telling me what to do!”

“You have a job to do,” the Metatron says sternly. “We may not always like our jobs, but they’re our duty and we must perform them!”

“Juzzt start the war!” Beelzebub cries.

Adam crosses his arms. “No. I don’t trust you.”

“Trust us?” the Metatron says, incredulous. “We are the Metatron! We are the Voice of God!”

“Well you’re quite _rude,”_ Adam says. “And you’re very single-minded, both of you. War this and war that. I don’t trust it one bit.”

Beelzebub makes a frustrated noise, bringing her hands to her face and cursing. Finally, she looks bitterly at Adam and says: “Alright. What can I do to make you truzzt me?”

“I as well,” the Metatron says tetchily.

Adam thinks for a moment. “Tell me a secret.”

The two stare at him.

“Sorry?” the Metatron asks.

“A secret,” Adam repeats. “Tell me a secret. Something you’ve never told anybody else, and then I’ll trust you.”

“I am not a secret keeper,” the Metatron says flatly.

Adam looks at him skeptically. “You’ve got one or two.”

“It doesn’t matter!” the Metatron snaps. “I will not tell you a secret, you have one job to do, and you must do it!”

“Okay,” Adam says. “I’ll trust you. If you tell me a secret.”

“You are acting like a child!”

“I am a child,” Adam shrugs, then looks to Beelzebub expectantly.

“Er—” she says, avoiding his gaze. “There’s nothing—”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Adam exclaims, his eyebrows raised. He looks at Beelzebub, then glances over his shoulder at Crowley, who pales and has to resist the urge to hide himself behind Aziraphale. Adam looks back at Beelzebub. “Go on, then. Say it out loud.”

“You already know it,” Beelzebub buzzes. “I muzzt not, er— you already know it! Why muzzt I say it?”

“I can hear your every thought like I’m listening to the radio, if I want to,” Adam says lightly. “It don’t mean anything if I hear it in your head, you have to _say_ it.”

Beelzebub is reeling, looking simultaneously mortified and furious. After a short moment, Adam sighs. “Alright, if you won’t tell me, I’ll have to find someone else to ask.”

The Metatron sneers. “Who else could you possibly—?”

Adam turns around to face Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Tell me a secret,” he says simply.

Crowley and Aziraphale look at each other with wide eyes, then back to Adam. “Sorry?” the angel asks.

Adam rolls his eyes. “Tell me a secret, and I’ll take your advice. On what to do about all this ‘war’ business.”

Crowley jumps on the opportunity. “All my shoes turn to snakeskin and I’m still not sure why.”

Beelzebub laughs. Adam shakes his head. “That’s not a secret, you’ve told him that,” he says, pointing to Aziraphale. “It has to be something you’ve never told anybody.”

Crowley swallows nervously, glancing at Aziraphale. He tells him _everything._ Except, well—

“Oh,” Adam says, and his eyes get big. _“Oh._ That’s a very good secret.”

Crowley blushes fiercely, gritting his teeth, but he’s being handed an opportunity to save the world, and he’s not going to pass it up. “You’re certain you’re taking your payment in secrets, then?”

Adam nods curtly.

Crowley looks nervously at Adam, then even more nervously at Beelzebub, and finally glances at Aziraphale, absolutely horrified. “Okay,” he says, and it’s hard to hide the tremor in his voice. “Aziraphale—”

“Me?!” Aziraphale exclaims.

“Shut up, you prat,” Crowley snaps, blushing. “I…”

He looks at Adam desperately.

“Go on,” Adam says.

Crowley looks back to Aziraphale. “I love you.”

 _“What?”_ Beelzebub snaps.

“Love—?” the Metatron stammers.

 _“Crowley,”_ Aziraphale breaths, his eyes wide.

“There’s more,” Adam promises.

Aziraphale looks at him sharply. “There’s more?!”

“There’zz _more?!”_ Beelzebub echos.

Crowley looks very alarmed. “Do I have to say the whole thing?!”

“Yup,” Adam says firmly.

Crowley looks back at Aziraphale, mortified. He speaks quickly before he can stop himself. “Since Eden.”

“Since _Eden?!”_ the Metatron exclaims.

“Eden?!” Aziraphale looks aghast. “Crowley—!”

“I saw you guarding the Eastern Gate and just wanted to speak to you,” Crowley babbles, “and the longer I spoke to you the more I realized I never wanted to stop. The Arrangement is my favorite thing about the Earth. It’s the main reason I _want to—_ I just— Aziraphale, I just _love you_ . I have for as long as I can remember. I can’t remember what it feels like _not_ to love you.”

 _“Crowley,”_ Aziraphale says softly.

 _“Crowley,”_ Beelzebub buzzes furiously, tearing the demons attention away from the angel to where she’s standing, looking more and more like a vibrating mass of wrathful larvae. Crowley shudders a looks away.

“I was already on my way down,” Crowley admits sheepishly. “I lost the Antichrist. I killed Ligur. Why not add ‘falling for an angel’ to the list while I’m already due for an eternity’s torture?”

“Ignore her,” Adam says, referring to Beelzebub, startling the two of them. “She’s just frustrated.”

He looks expectantly at Aziraphale. “Your turn.”

Aziraphale looks very sheepish. “My dear boy—”

“Oh!” Adam exclaims, looking absolutely delighted. “Go on, then!”

“I don’t think—” Aziraphale tries to protest, his gaze darting nervously to the Metatron.

“It’s a great secret!” Adam encourages.

Aziraphale swallows, then decides that if it means saving the world, it won’t kill him to reciprocate. He takes a deep breath that he doesn’t need, turns to Crowley, and says: “I love you, too.”

 _“What?!”_ Crowley shouts.

“What?!” Beelzebub and the Metatron echo in horror.

“Since Eden,” Aziraphale adds.

“Since Eden?!” the Metatron exclaims.

“Since Eden?!” Crowley squeaks. “I was a snake!”

“You were good conversation, is what you were,” Aziraphale says firmly. “And very smart and terribly charming, and I should’ve let you wrap around my arm and held you close while I stood my post.”

“Aziraphale…” Crowley says breathlessly.

The angel offers him a sad smile. “I think, perhaps, we’ve both been very foolish.”

“Very foolish _indeed,”_ the Metatron says in a threatening voice, dragging Aziraphale’s attention to it. “You’ll _Fall_ for this, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale attempts to look indifferent, but just ends up grimacing. “Well, I think perhaps it’s been a long time coming.”

He looks back to Crowley. “For you I do believe it will be worth it.”

Crowley blushes. He looked as though his knees were going to give out on him, and given the events of the day prior, they probably were.

“Alright!” Adam says, having had his fill of sappy feelings from adults (or, at least, adult-shaped creatures, who were really much older than any adults Adam had ever encountered). “Those are two very good secrets. So, what do you think about this whole war business?”

“There doesn’t have to be a war!” Aziraphale exclaims immediately.

“No!” Crowley says, then panics. “I mean yes! I mean— what he said! There’s no need for a war!”

“There are so many wonderful things on Earth!” Aziraphale insists. “Like— er—” he struggled to think of something children nowadays enjoyed.

“Adam,” Crowley says, vaguely wondering if it’s disrespectful for him to address the Antichrist by his first name. Based on the face Beelzebub makes, it probably is. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Oh, onion rings,” Adam says simply.

“Well,” Crowley says quickly. “Should there be a war and the world comes to an end, there will be no more Earth, therefore no more places to grow onions. And I can tell you first hand they do _not_ grow in Hell. _Nothing_ grows in Hell.”

“Huh,” Adam says.

“My Lord!” Beelzebub exclaims, drawing Adam’s attention to her. “Need I remind you, you have immenzze power! You can create and dezztroy whatever you pleazze! Come the War, and come our _victory,”_ she glares at the Metatron, “you need not grow ringzz of onionzz, you may simply _have_ them.”

“Huh,” Adam says again, clearly thinking hard.

“My dear boy!” Aziraphale says hurriedly. “I must impart on you that there comes no satisfaction in simply _miracaling_ everything you want into existence. And besides the fact, even though _you_ may live on after the War with whatever you may desire, there will be _tremendous_ loss of life. Likely very _painful_ loss of life, that you alone can prevent.”

“We could lecture you about the ethics of it if we really wanted to, but we don’t want to bore you,” Crowley says. “There are so many _good things_ about the Earth, and they’d all be destroyed forever after the War.”

“There’s also a lot of bad things about the Earth that’d be gone, too…” Adam mutters darkly.

“This is true,” Aziraphale says nervously.

“Be optimistic,” Crowley suggests anxiously. “You’re young yet, and your friends are too. And you all care a great deal about the kinds of things happening to the Earth. You can grow up and _do_ something with that passion. That’s a very lovely thing about humans, I think.”

Adam hesitates. “So you’re certain the war is a bad choice?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale and Crowley exclaim in unison.

Adam nods, his instinct solidified. He turns back to face the Voice of God and the Prince of Hell. “That settles it then,” he says triumphantly. “I won’t start your war.”

There's the kind of silence there might have been on the day before Creation.

Adam stands smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley grabs Aziraphale's arm. “You know what happened?” he hisses excitedly. “He was left alone! He grew up human! He's not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he's just . . . a human incarnate—!”

Then:

“I think," says the Metatron, looking sternly at Aziraphale, “that I shall need to seek further instructions.”

“I alzzo,” says Beelzebub. Her raging face turns to Crowley. “And I shall report of your part in thizz, _all_ partzz, ezzpecially such a _shamlezz dizzplay,_ thou hast better believe it.” She glared at Adam. “And I do not know what _thy Father_ will say . . .”

The sky wavered, and then became just sky. Around the horizon, the clouds began to unravel.

There was chatter from the humans behind them. Aziraphale and Crowley heard none of it, instead concerning themselves with each other.

“Is it over, do you think?” asks Aziraphale hopefully.

Crowley shrugs. “Not for us, I'm afraid.”

“I don't think you need to go worrying,” says Adam gnomically. “I know _all_ about you two. Don't you worry.”

He stares at them expectantly. They stare back at him, unsure of what he wants them to do.

Adam roles his eyes. He cups his hands around his mouth and says, in a stage whisper, _“This is supposed to be the part where you kiss.”_

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, blushing. “No, dear boy, I don’t think—!”

Crowley grabs him by the back of the neck and gives him a fervent, closed mouth kiss. It’s quite a spectacle for the surrounding humans.

Aziraphale breaks the kiss, impossibly flustered. “Crowley, please!”

“Sorry,” Crowley says, blushing furiously. “I’m about to be tortured for the rest of eternity. That’ll probably be our first and last.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says sadly.

“No torture,” Adam assures him suddenly. “None of that. You two just go back to London and promise to stop messing people about, yeah?”

Aziraphale and Crowley both blink at him.

“Er,” the angel says.

“Yeah?” Crowley agrees hesitantly.

Adam gives them a thumbs up, then turns away from them with an air of finality. The two watch him march back over to the rest of the Them, who look rather frazzled.

Crowley looks at Aziraphale. “You think he can really keep me from being tortured?”

Aziraphale hesitates. “Do you think he can prevent me from Falling?”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“Well,” Crowley says, an air of shyness in his voice. “I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

“What’s that, dear boy?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley reaches between them and takes his hand, holding it firmly. “Keep loving one another, and wait and see.”


End file.
